Penelope’s Pleasure (A Gentleman’s Guide To Understanding Women Book 1)

by Deborah Villegas

  He stopped at the open door. Penelope sat in the window seat absorbed in a book with her legs tucked under her skirts. A pair of slippers lay haphazard on the floor as if she had kicked them off without a care.

  The rain pattered softly against the window, no longer the torrential downpour but a gentle lullaby.

  “Good afternoon, Miss St. James.” He entered the room, walked straight up to her, and kissed her forehead. He did not miss her startled jump, or the fact that she shoved the book between the window and her skirts, or the spectacles quickly dropped into a pocket.

  “I didn’t hear your knock.”

  “I didn’t. Get used to it, Boots. Once we are married, every room is my room, and I do not knock when I enter.”

  Penelope paled. “Good Lord. Didn’t Aunt Augustina…?” She hopped off the window seat and paced. “I was sure…”

  Edward watched her toes peeking out from under her dress. She had pretty feet. Smaller than he thought. Why wasn’t she wearing hose? Why wasn’t she wearing—What was she wearing? She stopped next to the window; her shape silhouetted against the afternoon light. He sucked in a breath, and his entire body came to attention. She wasn’t wearing anything. No chemise. No corset. No unmentionables. Just a thin, faded, scrap of a day dress that should have been retired and relegated to the rag bin.

  “Edward.” Penelope dragged his name out and planted herself in front of him. “Are you going to tell me what happened?” She lowered her eyelids and peered at him as if he were one of her father’s specimens to be studied under a magnifier. “Are you alright? You look a little peaked.”

  Edward turned away. He needed to set some distance between them. “I’m fine.” He stopped in front of the fireplace, sucked in a deep breath, and stared into the flames. Penelope was getting under his skin and not in a polite way. How could a woman he barely knew, scatter his wits as if he were an untried buck attending his first ball?

  “Well?” The word came out in a strained huff, and he smiled. If Penelope was anything, she was not patient.

  He gave her a sidelong glance. “We have managed to thwart the marriage noose until the end of the season.”

  “Oh, thank goodness.” Penelope sank onto the couch. “I knew Aunt Augustina would make Reggie see reason.”

  Edward tightened his lips. Was she really so relieved not to have to marry him? Good God, he was a duke. He was a good-looking duke. He was an extraordinarily rich duke. He was an exceptional catch. He was every debutante’s dream. Hell, he was every mother’s dream. Any woman that landed him would become an instant success. A legendary success.

  “I said until the end of the season, at which time the bans will be read.”

  Penelope popped up. “What?”

  “Your Aunt Augustina convinced your father that you should have your season before we are wed.”

  Color faded from Penelope’s cheeks highlighting green orbs against pale skin, and she swayed. Edward was by her side in an instant. “You’re not going to have the vapors, are you?”

  Long auburn lashes brushed her cheeks, and she took a steady breath. When she looked at him, her eyes blazed. “I don’t have the vapors.”

  Thank the saints. He despised women who fainted at every upset. His mother and sister did that ad nauseam. He figured it was a womanly trait.

  Penelope pushed away and paced. Her steps were long and fluid and manly. Penelope didn’t walk, she marched.

  “There must be some mistake. Aunt Augustina knows how much I hate society. How much I detest the thought of going to London. And a season? I’d rather be flogged in public than,” she flapped her arms “than socialize.”

  “Would you prefer that I insist the bans be read immediately?”

  She stopped and gaped at him as if he were a monkey at an exotic exhibition. It did not sit well with his ego.

  “No, I would bloody well not. And you had better figure a way out of this mess, or you’d be wise to bring a physician to the mews at dawn on our wedding day.”

  Edward narrowed his eyes. “And why would I need to do that?”

  “Because I will call you out and blast a bloody hole through you.” Penelope turned and stormed from the salon slamming the door with a resounding bang.

  Edward frowned at the door. She didn’t need a gun to wound him. Her tongue-lashing was weapon enough.

  * * *

  Penelope threw her book across her bedroom with a curse. The thunk against her wardrobe was unsatisfactory. She had been restricted to her chamber for three days. Aunt Augustina had insisted on it as a precaution, and Lady Butterfield concurred stating the female constitution was delicate, and after Penelope’s thorough drenching, she must rest to regain her health. Bah.

  She had been pampered, petted, preened over, and plagued by constant female chatter. Then there had been the bolts of muslin, lace, gloves, slippers, and a sundry of other feminine fripperies that had been brought over by the local modiste and millinery. Blast. Hats and gloves and parasols. What next?

  She had to endure hours of opinions, suggestions, measurements, and draping. Her private boudoir had become a beehive of feminine activity. Beatrice and Claire gushed over the silks, satins, and brocades. Lady Butterfield tittered over the lace and fripperies. Aunt Augustina poured over the latest fashion plates, inspecting each drawing with the dressmaker, and noting alterations to be made. Amanda milled about and gave appropriate nods and smiles when required but mostly sat in a chair near the window out of the way and read. Mrs. La Pierre insisted they luncheon buffet style and ordered mounds of finger sandwiches and cakes and delicacies sent up on trays for everyone to partake at their leisure throughout the day. Mrs. La Pierre ate like a bird. Constantly.

  By the time everyone had departed to change for dinner, Penelope really did need to rest. Women made her dizzy.

  Someone knocked on her door, and it creaked open an inch.

  “Penelope? May I come in for a moment?” Ferris. And he sounded a trifle nervous.

  “Don’t worry; it’s safe. The feminine horde has retreated for the day.”

  Ferris entered, looked around at the mess, then sat in the only chair not draped with fabric. “You look a bit harried, Pen. I thought you spent your day lounging around and recuperating.”

  Penelope punched her pillow. “Reggie sicced the female guests upon me for revenge. When we get to London, I’m joining White’s. It’s no wonder men go to their clubs to relax. Women are exhausting.”

  “You, my dear Pen, are preaching to the choir. Reggie, Garrett, Addison, and I have had to deal with you for twenty years. I’m not sure if I envy Lord Westfield or pity him for having to take you on as a wife.”

  Penelope tossed her covers and rolled out of bed to prowl. “I am not marrying Lord Westfield.”

  “Well, you shouldn’t have tarried with him.”

  “I did not tarry with him. You know as well as I that he didn’t do anything. Why didn’t you tell Addison and Garrett the truth?”

  “What was Lord Westfield doing popping up from the tunnel in the first place, Pen? You were already,” He aired quotation marks, “unwrapped, so to speak, when I arrived at the cottage. For all I know, I interrupted a prearranged tryst.”

  Penelope blinked several times to clear the red fog of rage, but before she could take the much-needed lungful of air to blast her brother’s ears, Ferris waved her off and leaned back in the over-small chair and rubbed his temples as if he’d had as frustrating a day as she had. And if he had, she couldn’t blame him for his flare of St. James temper.

  “I’m not happy about your upcoming nuptials either Pen, but Lord Westfield admitted to taking advantage of you—in front of father and Aunt Augustina. If you’re going to be angry with anyone, it should be Lord Westfield. He is the one that sealed your fate, not I, and lord only knows what was said after father sent the rest of us out of the library.”

  Penelope stared at her brother. “Father made you leave the library? Even Reggie?”

  Ferris sat
forward with a grin. “It was beautiful. Reggie was even more put out than when Aunt Augustina confessed to airing her, err, sheets.”

  “Sheets?”

  He shook his head and rubbed his chin. “I will never tell you. And before you ask, neither will anyone else. In fact, since Lord Westfield knows, he should have to marry you to keep that family secret. And Pen dear, it’s a doozy.”

  “Not fair. You can’t throw out a well-hooked worm and not expect a bite.”

  “Oh, you’ll find out one day and in great detail to—unless your husband has his way, which I very much doubt.”

  “Edward is not going to be my husband. I plan to be just like Aunt Augustina. I want to be independent and do as I please.”

  Ferris bounded out of his chair. “In that case Penelope, I will do everything in my power to make sure you are wed to Lord Westfield.”

  Penelope forced herself not to take a step back. In the blink of an eye, Ferris had gone from friendly to ferocious. St. James ferocious.

  “This is just as much your fault as it is mine. Why should I have to suffer, and no one else? Why don’t you marry Edward? At least you wouldn’t have Reggie breathing down your neck anymore, and I’m sure his grace will be more than generous with your allowance.”

  Ferris’s mouth curved into a half-moon grin. “I don’t have the right equipment.”

  She felt herself deflate like an over baked soufflé. “Oh, well, drat. There is that I suppose.”

  Ferris pulled her close and gave her a swift brotherly hug and pat on the back. “I’m sorry, Pen. I didn’t come here to argue with you. I came here to say thank you for not ratting my situation out to save your own hide. If you don’t want to marry Lord Westfield, I’ll think of a way to get you out of this mess. Even if we have to bury him in the family vault with the rest of the skeletons.”

  “We’ll get us both out of our messes. I’ll help you come up with the necessary funds, and you work on relaying to Lord Westfield how unsuitable our match will be. I don’t care if you have to tell him about the Lady Godiva incident.”

  She felt Ferris’s rumbled groan before letting her go. “That should make him wary of making you his duchess. Now you’d better hurry. Reginald wants you downstairs for dinner.”

  Penelope snorted. “Is my restriction lifted then?”

  “For the time being. Mr. Granger and Lord Heatherton have arrived. You remember them, don’t you? They came down with Garrett and Addison two years ago.”

  “Archie and Marcus? How could I ever forget?”

  “Yes well, when you see them do not mention Hell Spawn, hunting, or horticulture. With any luck, they won’t recognize you or remember your ghastly behavior.”

  “There was nothing wrong with my behavior. I warned Mr. Granger not to ride Hell Spawn, but he wouldn’t listen. It served him right that he was thrown and it wasn’t my fault he ripped out the seat of his pants. Lord Heatherton couldn’t hit the side of a tree in the middle of a dense forest—any tree.”

  “Mr. Granger ended up with a wicked case of stinging nettles. He missed the entire spring term at Oxford because he couldn’t seat a horse. As for Lord Heatherton, I can assure you he has vastly improved his shot.”

  “I should hope so. He ruined a fine pair of Hessians and almost blew off his toe.”

  Ferris snorted and headed for the door. “That may be so, but Pen, you need to learn to curb your amusement. Now hurry up and dress. Reggie is expecting you downstairs in one of your new gowns within an hour, and Lord Westfield has been asking about you. He’s leaving early tomorrow morning.”

  Penelope’s chest tightened, and she grabbed her brother’s arm. “Edward’s leaving? Why?”

  Ferris raised a quizzical brow. “Careful, Pen, you sound upset. One might get the impression that you actually like him.”

  * * *

  Edward’s heart skipped several beats then did a backflip when Penelope entered the drawing-room. She was late again, but she was certainly worth the wait. Her auburn curls were smoothed and coiled into a crown at the top of her head, baring the elegance of her neck and daring a man to kiss the hollow at the base. The cinnamon and ivory silk of her gown enhanced the glow of her skin and displayed a fair amount of cleavage. He pressed his lips tight. Quite a bit more than he preferred any other man to see.

  Penelope scanned the room, and when her eyes settled on his, she gave him a brief up down of her chin and moved on. The cut was beautifully executed and damned if he wasn’t impressed and amused. At least until he watched her smile blossom.

  He followed her gaze to the trio of young men and his gut twisted. Ferris and his friends, Mr. Archibald Granger, and Lord Marcus Heatherton. All good-looking young bucks with exceptional lineage and well on their way to earning their stripes as rake hells.

  The lingering glances on Penelope’s décolletage from both men had Edward grinding his teeth. His only recompense was that Ferris seemed to be just as annoyed. If Penelope was to become Edward’s duchess—and she would—he was going to have to keep a close eye on her. Better yet. He was going to enlist her brothers.

  “My dear Lord Westfield,” Aunt Augustina interrupted his musings, and he turned to face her.

  “Lady St. James. You look exceptional this evening.”

  “I dare say you haven’t noticed me at all, Lord Westfield. You have been frowning at the door all evening.”

  Edward had no idea how to address that remark other than to be as candid as his companion. Damned if he wasn’t going to have a headache by the end of the evening. “Can you blame me? You have contrived to keep Miss St. James above stairs for three days, yet you insist we get to know one another better before the bans are read. Now you have brought in two fops for her to toy with.”

  “Afraid of a little competition?”

  “Lord Heatherton and Mr. Granger are hardly competition. You know as well as I that Miss St. James isn’t the kind of simpering female that would fall for flowery words, purple prose, and sappy sonnets.”

  Aunt Augustina winged a heavily plucked brow. “If you say so, Lord Westfield. I’m sure you’ve had more than your fair share of attention from the opposite sex, and think you are quite adept at reading a woman’s mind.”

  Edward studied Aunt Augustina. Was she pointing out the obvious or subtly hinting at the exact opposite? Penelope had been kept away from society and therefore had no experience with the game of coquetry. He didn’t believe for a minute that she would put up with some fop fawning all over her with pretty words, but would she know the difference between a mere flirtation and earnest pursuit? His stomach dropped. Yes, she would, and she would use it to her advantage. She might not have had much practice with the game, but she was intelligent, a quick study, and a St. James. It was going to be an exceedingly long season.

  The chimes sounded to announce dinner, and Aunt Augustina promptly latched onto his arm. “I will allow you to lead me into dinner since my niece already seems to have multiple escorts.”

  Edward swung his head around, and his stomach clenched. Both men extended their elbows, and after some banter that appeared to appease them, she took Ferris’s arm. Relief passed through Edward like a soothing breeze on a hot summer’s day. Or was it the cooling wind heralding an approaching storm.

  Edward stewed over his wine at dinner and eyed Penelope at the far end of the long dining room table. She sat between Mr. Granger and Lord Heatherton, both vying for her attention. Edward was seated between Aunt Augustina and the Lady Butterfield, the latter expounding the virtues of her daughters, Beatrice and Claire.

  He made all the appropriate comments, paid attention to both his dinner companions, and kept up the stream of dinner conversation. He was also aware of the undercurrent of male St. James tension around the room. It felt as if they were all floating on a deceptively calm river with a violent undertow.

  Reginald sat at one end of the table alternating between frowning at his sister and Miss Amanda Bishop—curious. Garrett and Addison slid worried g
lances between Edward and Penelope, and Ferris glowered at his plate through all four courses.

  St. James appeared oblivious, but he was no fool. As for Penelope, her smile was strained at best, and oddly enough, Edward felt somewhat mollified. The only St. James that appeared to be thoroughly enjoying herself was Aunt Augustina, and Edward had a sick feeling she was playing with them all.

  “Shall we all retire to the drawing-room? The Misses Beatrice and Claire Butterfield have agreed to entertain us with their musical talents this evening.”

  Edward breathed a sigh of relief at Aunt Augustina’s timing.

  Before Penelope’s two dinner companions had scooted their chairs back, Edward was at her side helping her up.

  Penelope took his arm with what appeared to be grateful acceptance.

  “Shall we take a stroll in the garden before the evening’s entertainment?” He didn’t give her a chance to answer. He might have phrased it as a suggestion, but the firm grip on her elbow was definitely an order, and his tight lips commanded silence.

  Not until they were at the back of the formal gardens, yet still in plain sight of the terrace did he let her go.

  “Thank you.” Penelope rolled her shoulders as if shrugging off a coat of rigid correctness.

  “For what?”

  “For saving me from what would have been a stunning example of a true St. James row. I was about to box both Mr. Granger’s and Lord Heatherton’s ears.”

  “Then I suggest the next time you enter a room; you come directly to me. I will not put up with your flirtations, Boots. Nor will I allow you to encourage or entertain any other suitor during your stay in London.”

  Penelope’s chin arched. “We are not in London, I was not flirting, and you are not my suitor.”

  He continued, ignoring the flash of temper. “Neither will I allow you to go for a stroll onto any terrace and especially in any garden, day or night, with any other man that is not a member of your family.”

  Penelope took a step back as if she were gauging the proper distance between her hand and his cheek for the most impact. “And why is that?”